


Sketches and Stitches

by sullivan



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:19:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullivan/pseuds/sullivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Person A is a loser and person B is a hobo. Person A is afraid of dying and person B wants to kill himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plot Twist

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys it's me again, this time with a long fic. i'm not sure how this one will turn out because i have never finished my long fics so far... but i'll try. sorry if you see any grammar mistakes, and enjoi!

Have you ever felt like you hate writing? Like you want to write a story, you have an excellent plot twist, you plan everything about the characters, and when it's time to start writing, you just freeze. You don't know how to start, where to start, because you know that the first sentence is so important, you want everyone to remember your story every time they hear that certain word or sentence, and it just makes you so nervous that you can't come up with anything poetic. It drives me crazy. 

I sometimes write three pages of poetic things, but if it's not poetic enough I delete everything. And this is so annoying; I hate writing so much. And I envy people who can write page after page awesomeness in one chapter of their story, I envy them a lot. I wish I had that talent, too. 

Actually, this is why I stick with drawing most of the time. Because drawing is just pouring your heart and mind on the paper. You don't have to erase any lines, you don't have to sit on your chair and wait for the inspiration to come for hours, you just draw one line, and you can do whatever you want with that line. You can keep it long or short, bold or thin, sharp or blurry. There is no wrong way of drawing, unlike writing. There are no grammar rules you have to know, no barriers such as language. I don't even think writing is art because of that. Art shouldn't have any rules.

Or maybe I just think like that because I can't write. 

And maybe I couldn't write because Mr. Marshall never shuts up. The man never. Shuts. Up. He keeps talking until the recess bell. In addition, him being a biology teacher makes everything ten times worse, because I really don't enjoy listening to shit about veins and blood and pulse and capillaries. Even just thinking about them makes me nauseous. I can feel the blood flowing in my veins as my hands become numb the tenth time in thirty minutes.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Mr. Marshall is now talking about nerves, which is an another disturbing thing for me, but I try to focus on the sound of the rain and my drawing. I didn't even realize I started doodling on the paper I took from Ray to write my story. I keep doodling, making a cute little kitten and draw her some eyelashes. I want her to be a little charming kitten, so other cats will envy her, want to be like her. She's a black, green eyed cat with a short fur. She has a pink collar because she knows how she rocks it. 

As I'm thinking about my cat and keep drawing other ugly cats, the door opens with noise, makes me jump out of my trance, and causes my pretty kitten to have an ugly, long line on her face now. I look up, only to see a short boy gasping for air. Stupid boy. Haven't you ever heard of knocking the door? 

But not only that, he doesn't even apologize and scans the classroom with his eyes, finally stepping towards Slimy Sally and sits next to her. I can see the confusion in Sally's eyes as she lets him sit. The whole class including Mr. Marshall, is watching him quietly. Mr. Marshall is not speaking during the lesson, which never happened in two years so far. I need to write that date somewhere. But it's not long until he starts speaking again. "I think you confused your class, boy," he says in a serious tone, only to earn a shrug from the boy. 

"No, I'm sure this is my class, but even if I did confuse my class, it'd be the principal's fault. This school is like a maze. I'm not even mentioning today's bad weather, and since the school is in the middle of nowhere, I'm a bit late and wet to my first day at the school. Sorry."

He just had to say "I'm sorry I'm late, sir. May I sit?" But instead, he made that long ass sentence which Mr. Marshall didn't approve at all. 

"I think you should also be sorry for interrupting my lesson and just breaking in the class, young man. Tell your problems to the principal."

"Okay, whatever," the boy murmurs, then coughs. "I mean yes, sir. I apologize for interrupting your lesson and just breaking in the class."

What a hobo.

Mr. Marshall simply ignores him and keeps telling stuff about nerves and systems, but he only can say a few things before the bell rings. No one cares now and Mr. Marshall knows it, so he shuts his mouth and grabs his stuff. He glances at the boy before he walks towards him. "What was your name, young man?" he asks. I can hear the tension in his voice, but Mr. Marshall can't really hurt a fly. He's a nice guy, the only problem is that he teaches biology. And talks a lot. 

"Frank Iero," the boy says, looking directly into Mr. Marshall's eyes like he dares him. Mr. Marshall shakes his head lightly and walks to the door. "Then welcome to the class, Frank Iero. I suggest you to learn the school rules soon."

I don't think Frank Iero listens to him now, as he says something to Sally and locks his eyes with mine. I feel a little bad for witnessing the whole thing, but it's not like I'm the only one who looks at them. I keep staring at him as he keeps staring at me until I shake my head and go back to my now ruined kitten. I bet my ass he will join the bullies in a few days and kick ass. I didn't like him at all. 

" 'm sorry Miss Kitten," I talk to my kitten, and erase the ugly line from her big eyes and fill them with green. I don't have a pink marker, so I leave the collar white for now.

"Is that you?"

I jump, once again, and close my eyes with patient. What is he doing right behind me. What does he want from Miss Kitten. I almost ripped her eye off. 

I ignore him, actually. I don't care if his future gang threatens me with punching me in my pretty face in a few weeks (that happened a lot last year). But he doesn't let go. 

"She looks like you." 

How can a doodle cat possibly look like me? I turn my face to him and see that he's leaning on me, so I look up. "You're wetting my paper."

He smirks and gets back. "Nice to meet you too," he murmurs. Is he really expecting me to be polite? I'm quite a polite person, but not to hobos like him. 

"Oh, I liked the plot by the way," he keeps smirking before he walks out of the class. I totally forgot the things I've written on the paper. 'Person A is an artist and person B is a poet. Person B dies in a car accident and person A dedicates a whole series of art to him.' And then I have tried to find a perfect beginning sentence, so the rest of it is just words and sentences mixed together. I should have erased that. I blush and cringe and borrow Ray's rubber for a second and erase it. Frickin' hobo. 

The rest of the day is just a regular day, all I do is sleep on my desk. I don't understand how the desk is more comfortable than my bed. When I hear the last bell of the day, I quickly pack my things and get out of school. It still rains but I can't even see the rain drops, so it's okay. I enjoy that kind of rains. 

I feel so tired when I finally get home, even though I didn't do anything all day. I murmur a quick "Hi mom," and go upstairs to see what Mikey's doing. His door is ajar, I open it slowly and see he's fallen asleep while reading one of my comics. He's so cute like that, I smile and take my comic back. I don't want him to tear it off while he's sleeping cutely. I put the comic down to the ground and watch my little brother for a while. He looks so tired, more tired than me. His face is pale and his lips are chapped. I bet he didn't eat today, too. I hate my mom for not forcing him to eat. I swear if anything happens to Mikey, she's the one to blame. I feel so bad for him, I hope he gets better soon because I missed him at school. I missed him a lot.

I let him sleep and leave his room, going to my own room. I also need a nap. I grab my sketchbook, only to fill the new Miss Kitten's collar with pink. The other one's eye is a little ripped off thanks to Frank Iero. Then I drop the sketchbook and the marker down, hug my blanket and try to sleep until dinner.


	2. Daddy Issues

I don't mind having nightmares. Nightmares make me feel alive. They remind me of the caution I should always be taking, the purpose I should always have inside me. I admit they scare me, like a lot, waking up in sweat and tears is not really pleasant, but this is how things work out in real life. You have to get through unpleasant things to achieve sweet things.

I don't know the time when I woke up, but the sun is already down, replaced by the moon. My face is wet, both from sweat and tears. I have seen my dad, which made me so happy. I always loved seeing him in my dreams and nightmares. He gives me a purpose the most. I smile lightly, suddenly feeling the burn in my nose and start to cry. I wish he was here with me, with Mikey. Things would have been so much better.

I wipe the tears away in a couple of minutes and get out of my bed. I remember taking a nap until dinner time, but seems like no one woke me up. Seriously though, did I really think anyone in this house cares what Mikey and I do? Oh, Mikey. I don't care about me, but they have to look after Mikey. They just have to.

I get in his room, only to see a still sleeping Mikey. He's holding an another comic book this time. His lips are dry like he hasn't drunk anything for hours, which means he also hasn't eaten. I clench my teeth together, making my hands into fists and go downstairs. I hate it so much when mom forgets his son is sick. She is lying on the couch and watching TV next to Chuck. I roll my eyes and look at the clock. 10:15. I'm starving. I don't say anything to them and go to kitchen. There is a pan of spaghetti with tomato sauce but there isn't much left. I grab two plates and fill them with what's left. I fill Mikey's plate more because I know he will only eat the half of it, and it's only with my force. So the more the better.

I go upstairs back with the plates and a glass of water in my hands and without looking at mom and Chuck. They make me nauseous. I want to rip Chuck's ugly blue eyes off. 

When I turn the lights on, I see Mikey is up. He narrows and rubs his eyes. "Woah," he groans and licks his dry lips. "I feel like shit."

"Yeah well, waking up at ten isn't really fun," I say and put the plates down the table in the corner of his room. "I got something to eat, c'mon."

He rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth to protest but I don't let him. "Just because you don't feel like you're hungry doesn't mean you aren't, Mikey. C'mon, we'll watch your favorite anime." Which is Tokyo Ghoul. This kid has memorized every line of Tokyo Ghoul and read the mangas at least four times.

He shuts his mouth and slowly gets of off the bed, scratching his head. "How was your day?" he asks while he's sitting on the floor next to me. It looks like he's in pain, but he doesn't mention it. And I ignore it, turning the laptop on. "Tiring though I did exactly nothing." We don't talk until I search for Tokyo Ghoul and scroll through the episode list. I know Mikey likes to listen to my daily stuff, because he can't go out, so I think a little harder if there's anything to tell. "There's this new kid in the class, Mr. Marshall went crazy because of him," I say as I remember Frank Iero. "He's a piece of shit and probably will get me in trouble in a few weeks." Mikey chuckles. "How do you know that?" I shrug and smile. "I just know. Trouble catches me like a magnet."

"It's because you love Iron Maiden."

I glance at him and wait for him to apologize for that shitty joke. When he doesn't and keeps smiling, I smile too, "Eat your food," I murmur. Well, at least he's smiling. 

We wait for a while and I tell him that I saw dad in my dream. I feel like he would like to know, and I'm right. "Really?" he says and smiles a little. "What was he doing?"

"It was a little memory actually, you were a little baby and he was holding you in his arms, I was next to him and we were walking in a park. We were trying to talk but your annoying cries were ruining everything." He chuckled and I continued. "He asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up and I said," I make a child voice, "I don't wanna grow up! But if I ever grow up I want to be a model." We both laugh. I want to study psychology now, not because it's my only dream, but I'm more realistic than my little self. "And when he told me that the fashion world isn't as pleasant as I think, I told him I wanna be an artist or a singer. But suddenly...he had a chest pain and dropped you as a reflection, and I couldn't hold you. He was on the floor too, and I didn't know what to do. I called for mom who was sitting on a bank, but she didn't hear me no matter how loud I call for her. When I grabbed you, your head was bleeding. I didn't try to save dad, I somehow knew it was impossible. But I could save you...so I just ran off and, woke up." 

"Wow, that shit is deep, man," he said quietly. It is deep. But I know the meaning of the dream. It means no matter how much I want my dad to be here, he won't be, but Mikey, my little brother is still here, and I will keep it that way. 

"So," I sigh, "Which ep you wanna watch?"

He thinks for a while. "Um...remember the one where Kaneki is being tortured? I love that episode."

"Okay, let me find it, it'll take five minutes." 

My third guess is true and I'm proud of myself. We just eat our spaghetti and watch Kaneki getting tortured. Mikey leaves the half, and I don't force him to finish it off. I normally would, but I feel like he would if he could.

After we watch three more episodes without talking much, Mikey yawns. "It's getting late, let's sleep," he offers, and I shrug. "You sleep, I'll listen to some music." He sleeps too much these days. But I don't mention that and grab the plates. "Sleep well, princess," I smile and leave the room while he whines. 

I just drop the plates on the sink. Mom can wash them, I don't care. I think she can at least bother to do that. I go to living room where Chuck is asleep and mom is still watching a shitty soap opera and tell her I'm going to bed. It's not like she cares, I just feel like I should because she's my mom after all, even though she literally doesn't give a fuck. And the rest of the night passes with listening to songs and drawing. 

The next morning is full of headaches, I probably slept late but I honestly never looked at the clock. It's raining heavier than yesterday, so I thought mom could take me to school. She didn't say anything when I asked her and did so; she even gave me some money. Cool. 

I quickly go into the building, I don't want my books to get all wet because they're my only sources for studying, I really don't take notes and I wouldn't pay 30 dollars to a math book. 

When I head to my class, I see there is only Frank Iero in there. He's staring out of the window, talking to his phone with frustration. I roll my eyes as I sit on my desk. He turns back to look at me but his expression doesn't change. He actually gets angrier and pulls his hair while he yells at his phone. "Okay, y'know what? Don't come back. Keep not giving a fuck about me!" 

I try to act like I'm not listening to him and take my sketchbook from my bag. I start to draw an eye. 

"Fuck you dad!" I stare at him as he snaps and shuts the phone off. He looks at me, still angry. "Daddy issues," he murmurs like I asked him what the case is. I shrug, I wouldn't treat my dad like that ever. No matter what he said to me. 

"Asshole," he says to himself, and I drop my pencil, licking my lips with anger.  
"He's your dad," I say, trying to sound calm but I can't. "Treat your dad like you're supposed to treat." 

He keeps looking at me, I can almost say he's shocked. He laughs like I said something stupid and shakes his head, not breaking the eye contact. "You don't know what he's like." 

I didn't need to know that. He might be a dick, but if you're his son, you have to act like you are. You have no right to call your dad asshole, tell him to fuck off.

I don't tell him that, instead I shut up and stare at my drawing. It's not my life. He can do whatever he wants.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew him," he murmurs again. "I wish he was dead." 

I look up back too fast. 

I stand up and walk over him. I don't stop until I'm face to face with him. Our foreheads almost touch. My expression is cold as ice. 

"You didn't mean that," I say, my voice is lower than I expected. Now he's definitely shocked.

He frowns. "What if I fucking meant that? I mean this!" 

I don't hesitate to grab him by the collar of his shirt and press him to the wall behind him. He doesn't try to free himself, he just looks me in the eye. We stare at each other like that for a moment, then I speak again in my surprisingly lower voice.

"You don't know what it's like to grow up without a father. I hope you never will. Believe me, I don't care what he does. But you need a father figure in your life, good or bad. Everyone does. So shut the fuck up." 

I leave him, never breaking the eye contact. He doesn't say anything. He grabs his bag and suddenly punches the wall with pure anger. It really hurt, I can tell by the sound. But he doesn't even blink. "You don't fucking know him!" he yells and I swear he's going to cry. "I wish he was gone, Gerard," he shakes his head violently and starts to fucking cry in front of me. "I can't stand him anymore, you have no idea." He is like talking to himself now. 

Should I say I'm sorry? What if he's a really bad father? But I passed that point a few seconds ago. I don't say anything while he's leaving the class. 

I actually feel bad for acting like this. I can't know what he's been through. Maybe his dad is his own nightmare. I see my dad in my nightmares too, but the difference is, Frank doesn't have a chance to wake up. And maybe he doesn't like nightmares like I do.

I guess I shitted in his day.


End file.
